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American Indian Educators in Reservation Schools Huffman, Terry Published by University of Nevada Press Huffman, Terry

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American Indian Educators in Reservation Schools Huffman, Terry Published by University of Nevada Press Huffman, Terry. American Indian Educators in Reservation Schools. University of Nevada Press, 2013. Project MUSE. muse.jhu.edu/book/26151. For additional information about this book https://muse.jhu.edu/book/26151 [ Access provided at 8 May 2021 23:33 GMT from University of Auckland ] chapter 4 If I Made a Difference for One Intrinsic Rewards Serving Reservation Students I have a cousin that’s visiting from California and the night before last she asked me, “Do you think you will always stay here? Do you think you will always be here?” And I said, “Well, yeah. I think I will.” And she goes, “Why? There’s nothing here! You could do so much!” And I said, “But I am doing so much! This is where I choose to live and I think that I’ve hit some kids’ hearts. And if I made a difference for one, that is worth it all.” —Montana middle school teacher reflecting on her life and profession I got to the school just as dawn was beginning to break. Not sure exactly where the school was located deep in the reservation, I made sure to be early in case I needed to search the numerous back roads in order to be on time. I caught a glimpse of a school bus in the distance, and allowed it to guide me to the school. Traveling over the twisting, paved roads with the haunting silhouette of the landscape around, I mentally reviewed the interview guide questions while also pondering what I had learned in previous interviews. I was about to learn a lot more. Upon later reflection, driving through the disappearing darkness seemed like a metaphor for the day’s coming events. I was nearing greater enlightenment. The lesson for this day would be about the uniquely powerful intrinsic rewards gained from serving one’s people. The last two days had not gone well for him. As we sat in the empty, dimly lit classroom before the school day began, the teacher took a long drink of coffee and leaned back in his chair. He was a big man who served not only as a teacher, but also as the high school football coach. He looked every bit the part and I thought he could be straight out of central casting. The day before, an intoxicated student had backed his car into this teacher’s car, doing considerable damage. The student did not have insurance and his parents were unable to pay for the repairs. He was understandably angry, and yet his concern for the student never wavered. Indeed, he used the occasion to evaluate his role as an educator and his responsibilities according to the traditions of his tribe. Although too humble to tell me so, I later learned he is recognized 78 as a spiritual leader and an emerging elder. For him, leading and teaching younger people through personal example go hand in hand with traditional beliefs. Even adversities, small and large, offer occasion to teach, learn, and serve. These moments also provide inestimable rewards for those who understand their significance: Yesterday that kid who hit my car, he was inebriated when he got here. Pulled in, backed up, boom, hit my car. I was angry at first but then you think about it. That family that kid comes from, they don’t have nothing. He don’t have insurance. And if the school don’t pay for it, I will have to get it fixed myself. But that’s one of the preachings. . . . I reflect back and wonder, Is there anything I could have done different? Is there anything I could have done a little bit better? Is there somebody I forgot or somebody I missed who I could have helped? . . . Our preachings say that when you help children learn, any which way, it don’t manner if you teach them how to fix a bike. When you are helping children, your rewards come from the Creator. So I have always followed that rule. You know, getting a paycheck is great, too. It helps pay the bills. But the rewards that come from the Creator benefit your children as well as your family. fru it of a day’ s work Historian Jacques Barzun once remarked, “In teaching you cannot see the fruit of a day’s work. It is invisible and remains so, maybe for twenty years.” The educators in this study faced a myriad of challenges, but they also gained enormous rewards from their service. Yet, as Barzun suggests, they understood many of those rewards must be deferred. I have the feeling that for most of the educators I met, it did not matter that they may not see the fruit of their efforts for another twenty years—if they personally see them at all. These individuals truly believed they are contributing to the survival of their people. This belief motivated them and kept them going. As one South Dakota teacher who compared the challenges to the rewards explained, “I think it is sometimes easier to focus on the challenges but it’s the rewards that keep you teaching. The rewards stay with me a lot longer than the challenges do.” Or, as a Montana teacher related, “These are our kids. We’re all related somehow. . . . They are all our kids, so we just have to work harder and find new ways and keep trying. . . . The rewards outweigh anything.” The educators had reason to remain optimistic, for indeed they directly and significantly contribute to the survival of their people—if only one child at a time. They seemed to viscerally understand their efforts have a lasting, enduring quality, and that what they are doing will not only forever change if i made a difference for one 79 the lives of some children, but also change the reservation itself. A South Dakota principal simply and succinctly exemplified the copious optimism for the future by concluding our interview with saying, “I just feel that I was put in the right place and I’ve been doing the best I can. And I think I really have made some difference.” This chapter examines the intrinsic rewards described by the participants. Unfortunately, the educators had less to say about rewards than they did about the challenges. However, the greater the challenges, the more significant the rewards. The participants revealed five different intrinsic rewards: witnessing the success of their students, receiving the appreciation expressed by others, understanding they make a difference in students’ lives, being aware that they are helping the reservation, and recognizing that they assist in tribal cultural preservation. I group these rewards into two basic types: affirming rewards and altruistic rewards. This chapter compares the two types of educators with the kinds of rewards they described and outlines some subtle differences in their experiences. Affirming Rewards Affirming rewards serve to confirm and validate the participants’ efforts. Analysis of the interviews indicates two dimensions of this theoretical construct: witnessing the success of students and receiving the appreciation and respect offered by others. By all appearances, affirming rewards are very important to the educators in this sample. Twenty of the twenty-one participants mentioned at least one of the two dimensions of affirming rewards during the interviews. Understandably, the participants took great delight in the accomplishments of their students. They found that personal contributions to students’ achievements served to affirm their work. Sixteen of the twenty-one educators referred to witnessing the success of their students as an intrinsic reward. Given their propensity to emphasize the instrumental benefits of academic achievement, one might expect facilitative educators would be more inclined to identify this theme as a reward. However, this did not appear to be the case at all. Affinitive educators and facilitative educators displayed virtually identical perceptions about the success of students. Nine of the twelve affinitive educators and seven of the nine facilitative educators alluded to witnessing the achievements of students as an important intrinsic reward. For a few of the educators, the rewards gained from observing the success 80 american indian educators in reservation schools of their students had immediate payoffs. These individuals noted the big and small achievements of students and were buoyed by their success. A Montana principal related the sense of triumph he felt in seeing former students return to the reservation as teachers: “But the intrinsic part, sometimes [are] the successes you see. I got a couple of former students who are coming back to teach now. And have chosen to come back. They didn’t have to. . . . The one that I’m thinking of right now, he came back and actually said that he is a teacher because I was his teacher. And he is coming back here so that he could help out some of the kids the same way that I did. I mean, to hear that said is a big motivator.” Others described everyday successes as extremely valuable to their morale. A South Dakota elementary teacher related the joy she experiences with each small accomplishment of her students: I just wanted to bring our people up, bring these little kids up. And just by getting in a classroom and letting these kids explore and not just directing all the time but showing them what they can do with themselves. In my first year of teaching, I had students who were reading at two grade levels higher by the time they left. They just took off. I didn’t hold them back. I didn’t tell them, “Oh, you’re poverty stricken. You can’t learn.” That word [poverty] just gets to me every time! . . . It’s still the same. I just get that feeling every time I see one of my little ones say, “That’s a letter M. It makes an Mmm sound!” And I go, “Yes!” I just love it. It just boosts me every day. I go, “Oh my God, this is awesome!” I love it. This is my job. I just love it. Frequently they mentioned the satisfaction of seeing students graduate from high school. Even elementary teachers often attend high school graduations in order to personally share with their former students’ academic successes. A Montana elementary teacher related, “I like it that I see people graduating and going on, and going to college, going for their heart’s desire, whatever type of job they would like to have. That really makes it. I like that. And I’ve seen umpteen kids go through school and now I have their kids in school.” One South Dakota elementary principal described the extraordinary lengths she goes to in order to celebrate the successes of her former students. On occasion, she must travel hundreds of miles in order to attend their high school graduations. She regarded participation in events celebrating the accomplishments of students as part of the responsibilities as a tribal leader. She explained, “The students’ successes. I try, and I miss some of them, I try if i made a difference for one 81 to go to every one of their high school graduations. An example is [name of a boarding school] this year. They had a pretty big class. I don’t know, there were seventy or so, and two of them were my former students.” A number of the educators spoke of the deferred nature of the intrinsic rewards serving Native children and communities. They understood the seeds they sow will take years to germinate and bloom. A South Dakota educator mused, “Well, I guess when I see my students that I’ve had years ago and I see them and they’re doing really well I feel like I had a part of that. Maybe a small part. And I feel like this is where I am supposed to be, this is actually where I am supposed to be.” Indeed, the deferred nature of intrinsic rewards proved to be a common sentiment. A Montana principal described what she would like to see as her final achievement as an educator: “I would like my legacy to be—the last class I taught, they were third graders—to have every one of them graduate from high school and go to college. That would be awesome, totally awesome. And then I could say, ‘I was their third grade teacher, and I knew every one of them could make it.’ ” A South Dakota teacher philosophically reflected on the nature of her contribution as an educator. As she considered the future, she concluded her ultimate and greatest reward will result from the achievements of her students. With great contemplation, she asked, “How would I mark what I have done? I could do a lot of things. I could write books. But I think what would really, really encourage me or let me know that I am doing something is when my first-year class graduates. When they are seniors, I think that will empower everything I am doing.” The appreciation expressed by others affirmed the contributions made by the educators and served as another important intrinsic reward. Almost half of the participants (ten of the twenty-one) alluded to the importance of the gratitude offered by others. However, the analysis of the interviews revealed a difference between the two types of educators. The affinitive educators were more likely to refer to the importance of this reward than were the facilitative educators. In fact, whereas seven of the twelve affinitive educators discussed how important it is to receive the appreciation from others, only three of the nine facilitative educators described this reward. Most of the educators recounted simple, mundane, but genuine gestures of gratitude, expressions of appreciation that carried a great deal of meaning and had significant consequences on the morale of the participants. A South Dakota elementary teacher discussed the importance of the gratitude shown 82 american indian educators in reservation schools by her young students: “Whenever it really gets bad, it’s always the adults. And I think, ‘Gosh, I should quit and go do something else.’ But a child will come up to me and give me a hug and that’s the end of that, I’m back! Forget the adults. They can do whatever they want to do. I’m here for the kids.” These ordinary events in which people voluntarily offered simple expressions of appreciation and respect reinforced their sense of purpose and served to fortify their efforts. A Montana educator related the following story: I walk into the grocery store and here comes a kid up to me and I haven’t taught this kid for maybe fifteen years and he was probably one of the toughest kids I ever had to teach. I’ve taught K through 12, and that kid gave me fits but I never gave up on him. And now that guy wants to come up to me and says, “You know, I made something out of myself. I want to thank you. I enjoyed your class.” . . . Those are the kinds of things that’s really worth a paycheck right there. When somebody comes up and says, “Thanks, I liked when you talked about Indians.” I taught Indian studies. “I liked when you did that.” It personalized it for that student. Those kinds of things. That’s what makes it. Occasionally the participants related tender accounts of the small, sincere gestures made by students. What may appear as a fleeting moment in a person’s career frequently held special significance and resonated many years afterward. A South Dakota principal shared such an experience that had occurred many years previously: When you work in tribal schools there’s a lot of dysfunctional behavior. I remember one year having a handful of boys who were just naughty. But I knew where they were coming from because I had lived in [name of reservation community] all these years and knew their families and I knew it was because of dysfunctional behavior. And I remember one little boy who I struggled with all year. And I remember fighting for him. His parents didn’t care. He had a mother, no father, was not being taken care of, and we set up meetings to try to get him some help so he would be safe. And he was placed out of the home. And I remember at the end of the year, there was nobody in the classroom, and he comes walking in with the man who ran the home he was living in, and he brought me a bouquet of flowers. [Tears well up from the memory.] Those are the things that drove me. Unfortunately, these kinds of intrinsic rewards could also be double-edged. At times, such expressions of appreciation came with reminders of lost opportunities. One South Dakota teacher explained that occasionally she must console those who too late come to realize the value of her guidance: if i made a difference for one 83 They remember. Things that you wouldn’t even think somebody would remember. But I have a lot of that. I mean, that’s a pat on the back for me. To have someone come over and say, “This is my grandchild or this is my child and this person really inspired me to do the best I can.” And even the sad times. I’ve had kids call me from prison and say “Miss [participant’s name], I didn’t listen and look at where I’m at. I sure wish I would have paid more attention and did what you told me to do. And now I’m here and nobody cares.” While most of the participants described personal and informal expressions of gratitude offered by other people, a few did identify more formal and community-based displays of recognition and appreciation. The account shared by a South Dakota principal underscores the cultural significance when the community acts to express its gratitude for the service rendered by an educator: We had our annual wacipi [powwow] and we honored a person that was retiring. So we got all that done and I came back over to the office to get some honorarium checks to give out. And I got back to the gym and there was a chair with a star quilt on it in the middle. And they said, “Miss [name of participant], would you please come up to the center?” And the staff honored me. And one of the honors they gave me was an Indian name. And the name they gave me is, “Helps the People Woman.” And then, after that I look and I see my family in the corner and they kept it a secret for who knows how long. And I was very humbled. Whether it was observing the success of students or receiving expressions of appreciation, affirming rewards appear to carry a special kind of significance for the educators. Certainly, their accounts revealed how they gained strength, vitality, and pride from these kinds of reinforcements. Likely because they perceive a great deal of community indifference toward education, the participants also readily embraced the renewing power of affirmation. A Montana teacher simply but enthusiastically exclaimed, “I feel I have a purpose. It motivates me. People in the community have complimented me and want their kids in my classroom because they understand what I am trying to do with these kids!” The affinitive educators in particular were inclined to discuss the importance of affirming rewards in their experience as educators. However, it would be a great mistake to interpret this to mean that affinitive educators were somehow less confident (or worse, more superficial) than facilitative educators and, thus, required more confirmation of their work. It must be remembered 84 american indian educators in reservation schools that affinitive educators were more likely to come from culturally traditional backgrounds than were the facilitative educators. Perhaps because the affinitive educators came from strong communal backgrounds where the affirmation from others is an important part of the culture, they simply were more likely to identify affirming rewards as significant. One thing is clear: the intrinsic rewards derived from actually seeing students’ successes and gaining the appreciation of others was manifestly important to the participants. Altruistic Rewards The educators frequently indicated they gain gratification from the knowledge that their efforts serve others. Three themes comprise the dimensions of a theoretical construct I call altruistic rewards: understanding they make a difference in students’ lives, contributing to the betterment of the reservation, and assisting to preserve tribal culture. Seventeen of the twenty-one educators described deriving rewards from at least one of the dimensions of altruistic rewards. Given the demands of the profession combined with the generally low pay relative to the academic training and social responsibility attached to it, the education profession historically has attracted dedicated individuals devoted to service. Virtually all educators first and foremost serve for the good of children. Sixteen of the twenty-one participants described the rewards derived from the knowledge they make a difference in the lives of children. Eight of the twelve affinitive educators and eight of the nine facilitative educators specifically referred to the awareness that they make a difference for students as an important intrinsic reward. Frequently, the rewards the participants described have a special significance. They faced enormous difficulties and the severity of the social problems found on the reservation enhances the satisfaction gained from impacting a child’s life. A South Dakota high school teacher understood her influence may be all that stands between success and tragedy for many of her students: It’s rewarding to not only see them succeed but be happy, and see them grow as kids. But at the same time to feel that you are making a difference in their life as far as you are the one they come to when there’s problems. And they are reaching out to someone when they have the red flags that something is going on versus doing the other things we know they do which is fight, smoke, drink, cut, huff. You know that they are finding an outlet that’s a personal relationship and not the other kinds of things. if i made a difference for one 85 Rather than pointing out specific examples of how they have impacted a student, a number of the participants described this intrinsic reward in abstract terms. Nevertheless, they derived a sense of accomplishment from the intuitive understanding they positively influence children. For example, a South Dakota educator reflected, “It’s always a good feeling to know that you are making a difference in reservation children’s lives. That has always been my reward if I can improve a student’s or a child’s life. That was one of my goals as a professional and I try to impress upon them that education is important. In today’s society, you can’t hardly do anything without a decent education. So intrinsically it was trying to improve their lives as much as possible and go on and be a contributing member of society.” A Montana teacher expressed similar experiences. He explained, “I’m trying to help these kids develop a sense of purpose and goals, something else than what they just have here. ‘It’s a big world out there.’ I tell them. ‘There’s opportunity to go all over the place.’ . . . The intrinsic reward is, I guess, the hope that those kids can find that opportunity.” The simple knowledge that they had changed a perception, altered an expectation, and expanded an ambition produced great rewards for the many of the educators and fueled their desire to continue with their service. As a South Dakota principal explained the rewards she gains from serving as an educator, “To leave an impression. I remember a little girl saying to me, ‘When I grow up I want to be a principal,’ knowing that now Native Americans can become principals and they can become teachers. So it’s those kinds of things that have driven me to continue doing what I am doing.” While their efforts may not be evident for many years in the future, the participants recognized they are directly contributing to the betterment of the reservation. They were both educators as well as instruments of community development. Ten of the twenty-one participants, nearly half, specifically discussed the intrinsic reward of knowing they are contributing to the improvement of the reservation. Four of the affinitive and six of the facilitative educators referred to this reward during the interviews. These individuals found great fulfillment in the awareness their efforts will eventually work to enhance the quality of life for the greater community. As one South Dakota educator described her feelings about the rewards she experiences, “Just being able to give back. I mean this is my community. To help kids succeed. And I know everybody. If I’m not related to them, I’ve taught their families, went to school with the grandparents. And it really helps me because I know everyone. I know where everyone lives.” 86 american indian educators in reservation schools A Montana educator framed the rewards of serving the community within the legacy he hopes to leave behind. This teacher obviously accepted the deferred nature of intrinsic rewards associated with assisting the community: “I feel good about what I do. I do my best for these kids and that’s all I can do. I’m frustrated a lot of days. It’s a frustrating process. But you get your moments. . . . I would hope that at some point I’ve motivated and inspired a few people. Whether that will happen or not remains to be seen. But I want to be thought of as somebody that cared about these kids and cared about education and recognized that education has positive benefits for our tribe and our community.” Another Montana teacher spoke of a desire to achieve specific accomplishments. For this educator, the potential benefits to the reservation are a natural, albeit hard-earned, part of being a Native educator: I think another reward is to be able to see students grow and learn. And I think what really makes my heart tickle is when kids can say, “You know Miss [participant’s name], when I grow up I want to be a teacher like you.” I don’t know what it is, but that’s what blesses me! And to see that I’m investing in our future. I think that our children are our future and I believe that somewhere down the road I’ve helped in the life of our next tribal chairman or tribal chairwoman, another doctor, or lawyer. So those are the rewards that I look at. A powerful reward for a number of the participants was the awareness their efforts help to preserve tribal traditions and language. While fifteen of the twenty-one participants discussed the use of schools in the effort to preserve tribal culture (a topic addressed in more detail in chapter 7), eight individuals specifically described this contribution as an intrinsic reward. This number includes five of the twelve affinitive educators and two of the nine facilitative educators. Those who identified the rewards gained from helping to preserve tribal culture either taught Native language subjects or are themselves speakers of the tribal language. Understandably, these individuals gained a tremendous sense of accomplishment from this reward. For example, a South Dakota tribal language and culture teacher exclaimed, It’s awesome! It’s really an awesome feeling being Native and being with our people based on our history and everything we couldn’t do at one time and the things we can do today. That’s the reward of it. But the rewards of knowing that you can be at home here and the children can come to school and can share what a beautiful heritage that if i made a difference for one 87 we have and where we come from. And to look at history in a different way rather than always looking at it as, “Oh, that was a terrible way. They were bad. How could they have done this to us?” Rather than look at it that way we can say, “This is what happened in our history and what is it that we are going to do to make a difference together today?” A Montana tribal language teacher described the rewards gained from influencing young students. This individual took particular satisfaction in one of his former students who has proceeded to make a significant contribution to help preserve the tribal language: The reward is when you see kids in the hallway and they greet you in [the tribal language]. . . . And some of the older students that I’ve taught that are now adults, they come up to me and say, you know, they talk [the tribal language] and all. They say they got their start learning the language from my classroom. I think that is the reward right there. As long as you are promoting your language and enhancing your language development with the young ones and passing all your knowledge along. . . . There was a young gentleman who came through my door one time. I’ve had him since he was in sixth grade, seventh grade. Seen him grow up. And his family and his grandparents are really strong, traditional people. And he said, “I want to be like you one day.” You know, I thought that was pretty good. He went to Missoula, got his degree, and now he is teaching at [the tribal college] here. And he is teaching the language. Altruistic rewards originate within the person. Ultimately, few rewards may be more powerful than the visceral awareness that one makes a contribution. Standing on this conviction, the participants weathered many of the challenges they routinely faced. But there are some interesting differences between affinitive educators and facilitative educators. Facilitative educators were somewhat more likely to describe altruistic rewards compared to affinitive educators. However, there is a complexity within this pattern of perceptions. The participants described three specific types of altruistic rewards: making a difference in students’ lives, the awareness they help the reservation, and the satisfaction in working to preserve tribal culture. The affinitive educators identified only one altruistic reward (knowledge that they are assisting to preserve tribal culture) more frequently than the facilitative educators. Because more of the affinitive educators came from traditional backgrounds, such a disposition is not especially surprising. Half of the affinitive educators indicated they had some fluency in a tribal language and greater exposure to traditional culture. Likely they feel they can 88 american indian educators in reservation schools make greater contributions to cultural preservation compared to the less culturally oriented facilitative educators. Facilitative educators were slightly more likely to describe the rewards gained from an understanding they make a difference in the lives of children (all but one of the facilitative educators mentioned this reward) and in the awareness they help the larger reservation community. Rewards such as these are the kinds of accomplishments an educator who highly esteems his or her professional competence would be inclined to cherish. There is, of course, another explanation: altruistic rewards are likely the most common kind of intrinsic rewards experienced by educators all over the country (Cookson, 2005). Unfortunately for some, they may be the only intrinsic rewards. compar ison of af f i n itive e duc ators a n d facil itative e duc ators Affinitive educators and facilitative educators shared a number of significant intrinsic rewards. Most clearly, these types of educators found it gratifying to observe the success of their students (an affirming reward) and derived satisfaction from the knowledge they are making a difference in students’ lives (an altruistic reward). Indeed, these two intrinsic rewards rate as the most common forms of gratification identified by both types of educators. However, a closer examination of the interviews does reveal a few differences in the kinds of rewards affinitive educators and facilitative educators reported as most compelling. While I need to be careful not to make more of these differences than they merit, the data do suggest affinitive educators placed slightly greater emphasis on affirming rewards (which are externally derived), whereas facilitative educators were somewhat more likely to stress altruistic rewards (which are internally derived). For instance, the majority of affinitive educators identified both dimensions of affirming rewards as important to them. Among the twelve affinitive educators, nine regarded witnessing the success of students and seven identified receiving appreciation from others as important intrinsic rewards. On the other hand, the majority of facilitative educators only mentioned observing the success of students (seven of the nine) as a reward but not gaining the respect and appreciation from others (only three of the nine). In regard to altruistic rewards, the reverse pattern exists. Whereas the majority of facilitative educators described two of the altruistic rewards as important, the majority of affinitive educators mentioned only one of the themes. Specifically, among the nine facilitative educators, if i made a difference for one 89 eight identified the awareness they make a difference in students’ lives and six discussed helping to improve the reservation as intrinsic rewards. Conversely, the majority of affinitive educators (eight of the twelve) mentioned only making a difference in students’ lives as an important intrinsic reward. Does that mean affinitive educators value affirmative rewards more than altruistic rewards, and facilitative educators place greater value on altruistic rewards over affirming rewards? Such a claim would be ludicrous. If nothing else, there are hardly enough data to support such a position. Rather, these data suggest something else. Likely, the two types of educators experience similar rewards and esteem them in comparable fashion. Simply put, I seriously doubt there is any substantial difference in the intrinsic rewards these American Indian educators value. However, I do think the two types of educators are more sensitive to certain types of rewards merely as a result of the way they interpret their respective roles. Affinitive educators likely do not receive personal compliments at any greater rate than the facilitative educators, but those rewards stood out in their minds because they saw themselves as role models and work hard to build personal relationships. Personal feedback is critical when building interpersonal relationships and such rewards strengthen the role affinitive educators deem important. On the other hand, facilitative educators viewed their fundamental role as being competent educators who promote the benefits of education. These educators highly esteemed the potential contributions they make to the betterment of the reservation. That does not mean they make more valuable contributions toward community development than the affinitive educators, but it could mean these individuals were more prone to describe these kinds of rewards because they are consistent with and reinforce the role they perceived for themselves as educators. conclus i on Lieberman and Miller (1992) make an interesting observation regarding the intrinsic rewards associated with teaching. They suggest the most meaningful rewards come from students. Teachers frequently toil in cloistered settings. As a result, they often lack affirmation from their peers, thus students frequently become one of their most important sources of confirmation and validation: The greatest satisfaction for a teacher is the feeling of being rewarded by one’s students. In fact, most of the time the students are the only source of rewards for most teachers. Isolated in their own classrooms, teachers receive feedback for their efforts from 90 american indian educators in reservation schools the words, expressions, behaviors, and suggestions of the students. By doing well on a test, sharing a confidence, performing a task, indicating an interest, and reporting the effects of a teacher’s influence, students let teachers know that they are doing a good job and are appreciated. Unlike other professionals who look to colleagues and supervisors for such feedback, teachers can only turn to children. (Lieberman & Miller, 1992, p. 2) This observation partially applies to the educators in this study. They frequently discussed the rewards gleaned from witnessing the successes as well as receiving the appreciation expressed by their students. Indeed, children are the most important source of the intrinsic rewards they experience. However, the educators in this study also generally described deep connections to their communities. The reservations I visited are populated by people of profound communal bonds. Indeed, the notion of community surfaced when the participants talked about the roles they perform, the challenges they face, and, yes, about the rewards they gain. Pavel and colleagues (2002) describe an American Indian and Alaska Native teacher preparation program partnered between Northwest Indian College and Washington State University. Although they did not report on the intrinsic rewards derived from serving reservation communities, it is evident the students who participated in the program were motivated by a call of service to their people. Just as important, they also anticipated the challenges before them as educators in Native schools. Significantly, the students and faculty involved in the program recognized and embraced the unique community-oriented responsibilities of Native teachers serving American Indian and Alaska Native schools. Simply put, to serve as a Native educator in reservation schools is to truly serve the entire community. Other researchers, too, have documented the significance of intrinsic rewards in recruiting and retaining teachers in rural schools. While these studies did not include reservation schools, the similarities with the experiences of the participants in this study are clear enough. For instance, researchers have found rural teachers highly regard such powerful intrinsic rewards as helping rural communities, predilection for a rural lifestyle, and preference for small, safe school environments (Ballou & Podgarsky, 1995; Johnson & Strange, 2007; Monk, 2007; Smith-Davis, 2002; Zost, 2010). These similarities notwithstanding, the intrinsic rewards described by the participants in my research also have a unique, almost paradoxical character. Their rewards were privately experienced, yet frequently community derived and shared. I if i made a difference for one 91 am reminded of the South Dakota principal mentioned in this chapter. It was altogether fitting for the community to honor her with the tribal name “Helps the People Woman.” When the educators in this study assist their students, they are doing nothing less than fulfilling ancient, traditional responsibilities. The rewards were highly personal and private, but they were also public, cultural expectations. This is perhaps one of the reasons why affinitive educators, who were more likely to be traditionally oriented, displayed greater sensitivity to the public attention on Native educators. They understood all too well their efforts directly contribute to the survival of their people, and the tribe expects this of them. Every profession has those who do little more than work for a paycheck. For such individuals, intrinsic rewards are minimal, whereas the extrinsic rewards are virtually everything. Certainly, education as a profession is no different in that regard from other professional fields, yet it is safe to say that most educators who remain in the profession highly prize the intrinsic rewards derived from their service. And, to be fair, I assume many of the rewards identified by the participants of this research do not greatly differ from the intrinsic rewards valued by educators everywhere. As Peter Cookson reminds us, Very often in our culture, people don’t think of their work as a calling. For many people, their work is a means to an end. They work for a paycheck in order to live their lives. But those of us who are called to teach have a true vocation. Our mission is to increase the world’s capacity for growth by enabling each of our students to fully maximize his or her talents, imagination, analytical skills, and character. We are like gardeners who plant seeds in the fertile earth. Add a little intellectual fertilizer, let the sun and the rain bring life to the seeds, and then we get to watch the seeds become flowers and plants and sometimes even towering trees. . . . Our greatest rewards are always intrinsic; our satisfactions come from watching a student undertake an imaginative journey or watching a youngster suddenly discover the world of ideas and thought. . . . Because we have a vocation, we put intrinsic rewards above the extrinsic rewards of salary and status. (Cookson, 2005, p. 16) Yet it seems to me the intrinsic rewards held special importance for the educators I met. The challenges they confront are perhaps greater than most Americans truly understand. As a result, their intrinsic rewards were all the more significant and meaningful. Ultimately, it is the intrinsic rewards they found in serving Native children and reservation communities that kept them going. When I asked the teacher whose car was badly damaged by the 92 american indian educators in reservation schools inebriated student about the rewards in teaching, he remarked, “Well, it’s not so much the pay! The pay is not really the reward!” Indeed. I don’t know what happened to the teacher’s damaged car. More important, I wonder what happened to the young man who caused the damage. After meeting this educator, I have no doubt he is a man of sincerity and integrity. He is a man steeped in the cultural traditions of his people, and they regard him as an emerging elder, a preserver, and a teacher of tribal traditions. In this instance, the roles associated with serving as an educator and a tribal elder converged. I am sure this occasion provided an opportunity to perform the responsibilities of both statuses for the benefit of the young man. Only time will tell whether the student will receive and heed the instruction from the teacher, from the elder. Whatever may be the case, the teacher understood his rewards do not really come from the school district, but from the Creator. I can still see this wise teacher as he slightly leaned forward in his chair. He took another drink of coffee and thought for a moment. Then he looked up at me, and with a mischievous smile and a quick wink, said, “Paycheck does help.” if i made a difference for one 93 "A Limited Range of Motion?": Multiculturalism, "Human Questions," and Urban Indian Identity in Sherman Alexie's Ten Little Indians Author(s): JENNIFER K. LADINO Source: Studies in American Indian Literatures , FALL 2009, Series 2, Vol. 21, No. 3 (FALL 2009), pp. 36-57 Published by: University of Nebraska Press Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/20737488 JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at https://about.jstor.org/terms University of Nebraska Press is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Studies in American Indian Literatures This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms "A Limited Range of Motion?" Multiculturalism, "Human Questions," and Urban Indian Identity in Sherman Alexies Ten Little Indians JENNIFER K. LADINO Despite the fact that more than two-thirds of American Indians live in urban areas, many readers and scholars of American Indian literature continue to associate Indigenous peoples with natural environments rather than urban ones.1 In the minds of many non Native Americans, Indians still wear headdresses, live in tipis, paddle canoes, and live in perfect harmony with plants and animals in a prehistoric pastoral world. Such stereotypes are problematic not just because they romanticize, generalize, and eulogize Indians; these myths also fail to represent contemporary demographics and effec tively ignore the real lives and concerns of the majority of today's American Indian population. As historian Donald Fixico explains in The Urban Indian Experience in America, the relocation years of the 1950s and 1960s saw "as many as one hundred thousand" Indian citizens make their homes in the city, and several generations have "survived" urban life since then (4, 27). In spite of "a long road of overcoming socioeconomic obstacles, cultural adjustments, and psychological struggles," many urban Indians now hold profes sional careers and are established members of the American middle class (7). Accordingly, Fixico notes, the image of the victimized and "downtrodden" urban Indian?unable to fit in due to insufficient training or skills or a lack of education, and either homeless or liv ing in dilapidated housing?has become less and less representative (26-27).2 Highlighting literary texts written by Native authors that reflect the multifaceted dimensions of urban Indian life is one way to begin This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Ladino: "A Limited Range of Motion?" 37 combating lingering stereotypes and complicating notions of con temporary Indian identity in productive ways. As Paula Gunn Allen has noted, "images of Native people [have] come increasingly under the control of Native writers" over the course of the twentieth cen tury (4). Among recently published texts by what Allen calls "third wave" American Indian authors, Sherman Alexie's Ten Little Indians (2003) stands out as worthy of special attention. With a cast of char acters that are endearing, fallible, sincere, loveable, and of course, funny, this collection of stories depicts life as an Indian in the city of Seattle, a place of blurry cultural boundaries where one can eat at restaurants like "Good Food, a postcolonial wonder house that serve[s] Japanese teriyaki, Polish sausage sandwiches, Italian Ameri can pizza, and Mexican and Creole rice and beans" (69). Through out this set of stories, Alexie implicitly theorizes the ways in which Spokane and other Indian identities are negotiated in this multicul tural city. I deliberately use this descriptor in reference to Seattle so as to draw attention to the ways in which even a relatively progressive city replicates some of the problems associated with multiculturalism. In his cogent critique, Vijay Prashad charges multiculturalism with reifying notions of cultural and racial purity and authenticity, rein forcing hegemonic power dynamics and precluding truthful discus sions about historic and present-day injustices. The idea that "people come in cultural boxes that are hermetically sealed, that their culture is a thing that is immutable and pure," exacerbates these problems ("Interview"). Prashad claims that we are in the midst of a two-way struggle between a "top-down" multiculturalism and a more prom ising polyculturalism?a way of understanding identity that works "from the bottom up" to debunk the myth of authenticity and form alliances across lines of perceived racial difference ("Interview"). Specifically, Prashad defines polyculturalism as "a provisional con cept grounded in antiracism rather than in diversity"?a concept that, "unlike multiculturalism, assumes that people live coherent lives that are made up of a host of lineages" (Everybody xi-xii).3 Seen through this framework, Ten Little Indians might be described as a text that illuminates the problems with multicultural This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 38 SAIL-FALL 2009 * VOL. 21, NO. 3 ism while simultaneously imagining a polycultural world. The Alexie who, ten years earlier, wrote that "sharing dark skin doesn't neces sarily make two men brothers" seems to have evolved into an author with considerable hope for human compassion that crosses racial, ethnic, tribal, geographic, and socioeconomic boundaries (The Lone Ranger 178). Alexie's Seattle, with its incessant motion, fleeting inter actions, and excessive individualism, can be alienating and cold; it can render its inhabitants invisible or subject them to merciless ste reotypes. More often, though, the city is a space in which empathetic boundary crossing and community building take place. Full of com pelling characters who "have loved and failed each other," these sto ries suggest that looking for compassion in urban spaces can be a daunting, but surprisingly rewarding, process (Ten 149). With its relative optimism, Ten Little Indians not only partici pates in a geographical shift in Alexie's literary career?away from reservation life and into the urban sphere?but also marks an ideo logical shift, a turning point in Alexie's own beliefs concerning trib alism. These stories celebrate what Fixico identifies as an emergent worldview in which urban Indians have come "to view themselves more as 'Indians' and less as 'tribalists'" (Urban Indian 3). Alexie has described a similar shift in his own worldview following the terror ist attacks of September 11,2001, which he has called "the end game of tribalism" (Williams). He has since rethought his own "funda mentalism" and has consequently moved away from dealing strictly with tribal issues.4 Scholars and critics have noted this shift as well. In her preface to an interview with Alexie published in MELUS in 2005, ?se Nygren notes that in Alexie's later writing (including Ten Little Indians) the reservation is transformed from "a geographical space of bor ders and confinement" to "a mental and emotional territory." At the same time, his texts have changed in emphasis "from angry pro tests to evocations of love and empathy" (150-51). David L. Moore makes a similar point in the recent Cambridge Companion to Native American Literature when he suggests that Alexie's characters are "looking for islands of human connection," and they often find them (304). Joseph Coulombe credits Alexie's use of humor with This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Ladino: "A Limited Range of Motion?" 39 enabling "all readers?Indian and non-Indian?to recognize the possibility of [a] common space, to understand and appreciate their shared humanity" (110). Extending these conversations, I would like to suggest that in Ten Little Indians it is not only humor but also the city of Seattle that provides a common space for shared humanity to materialize. What I wish to explore further is how Alexie's turn to urban space corresponds to his move toward "love and empathy." Is it merely a matter of being off the reservation that frees Alexie to make this move? Is there something about the city that encourages an acknowledgment of our shared humanity? This essay analyzes several of the stories in Ten Little Indians in order to consider how urban space shapes contemporary Indian life and how Indians, in return, construct their own personal and cultural identities within the city environment. Specifically, Alexie's text reveals how Seattle's multiculturalism obscures and even perpetuates social injustice. Homelessness, alcoholism, and poverty continue to be problems for urban Indian populations; gentrified neighborhoods (which are often anything but diverse) displace the poor and the homeless; and racism continues to determine how people are able to occupy urban space. Even as Alexie combats any automatic acceptance of a roman ticized multicultural community in Seattle, though, he also provides models for building polycultural alliances that offer hope for justice through generosity, empathy, community, and a recognition of our shared humanity. Critics of Alexie?including other American Indians?have condemned his work for failing to represent healthy communities and for perpetuating damaging stereotypes about Indian life. Louis Owens has argued that Alexie "shows Indian communities in dys functional disarray, fragmented and turned inward in a frenzy of alcoholism and mutual self-destruction?whether the community be Pine Ridge or a Spokane reservation?[that] is both entertaining and comfortable to the non-Native reader" (76). Owens also refer ences Gloria Bird's well-known critique of Alexie's Reservation Blues for "omit[ting] the core of native community" (75). These accusa tions, which were made of Alexie's earlier writing but continue to This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 40 SAIL-FALL 2009 ' VOL. 21, NO. 3 inform scholarly conversations, focus largely on reservation life and do little to help theorize the urban experiences of Indians.5 My read ing of Ten Little Indians reevaluates these critiques in light of the ways in which communities are created in Seattle, even as individual Indians struggle to negotiate complex identity categories in a some times hostile, sometimes welcoming environment. Whether and how the city might be considered home by Indige nous peoples continues to be problematic given the unique "stresses of Westernized urbanization" (Miller 35). In her brief discussion of Ten Little Indians, Ewelina Banka reminds us that while many urban Indians feel they "can make, or have made a home in the city," others continue to "feel insecure and unwelcome, even though at home" (38). She also makes the point that Indians perceive and experience the city differently depending on their economic and social status, and she proposes that the "novel theme" in Alexie's recent work is "the city as a space separating Indian people depending on their social position" (37). Alexie does create a range of Indian charac ters in various socioeconomic situations; some are homeless, some are decidedly middle class, some claim to have become downwardly mobile. While Banka's point is an important one, I would like to suggest that the stories also trace how these diverse characters bridge their differences and develop new communities in spite of them. The city can be a space of separation, but it is also, maybe even pri marily, a space of connection. Alexie opens the collection with a vision quest of sorts in the story "The Search Engine," an instructional tale that teaches readers how to approach the rest of the book by setting up key issues for us to track. In this ironic bootstraps story, Corliss Joseph is introduced as a "rugged individual," a "poor kid, and a middle-class Indian" from the Spokane Indian Reservation who creates "an original aborigi nal life" by studying poetry at Washington State University (5). Complicating his own American Dream rhetoric, Alexie goes on to describe Corliss as "a resourceful thief, a narcissistic Robin Hood who stole a rich education from white people and kept it," remind ing readers that Indians still struggle for compensation after centu This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Ladino: "A Limited Range of Motion?" 41 ries of oppression and violence and suggesting that Indians must do whatever it takes to succeed in the ongoing colonial situation within the contemporary United States (5). Ethnic identity is, from this early story, subject to many vari ables?Corliss can be simultaneously a "poor kid" and a "middle class Indian"?and is immediately cast as something contingent, impure, and negotiable. A bright student and a savvy young woman, Corliss learns how to "benefit from positive ethnic stereotypes and not feel any guilt about it" (11). Perhaps in part because of this abil ity to use an awareness of stereotypes to her advantage, she exhib its confusion about her identity, particularly her relationship to her tribe. When she discovers a book of poems by Spokane Indian Harlan Atwater at her school's library (aptly titled In The Reservation of My Mind), she embarks on a modern-day vision quest to find Atwater and, hopefully, some resolution. Alexie describes her quest as follows: Long ago, as part of the passage into adulthood, young Indi ans used to wander into the wilderness in search of a vision, in search of meaning and definition. Who am I? Who am I sup posed to be? Ancient questions answered by ancient ceremo nies. Maybe Corliss couldn't climb a mountain and starve her self into self-revealing hallucinations. Maybe she'd never find her spirit animal, her ethereal guide through the material world. Maybe she was only a confused indigenous woman negotiating her way through a colonial maze, but she was one Indian who had good credit and knew how to use her Visa card. (27) Though the means for undertaking this kind of quest may have changed, the search for identity?her own identity as an individual, her tribal identity as a Spokane Indian, and even a collective, human identity?is still at its core. Dispelling stereotypes about mystic journeys in pristine natural environments, Corliss's quest is updated to speak to contemporary Indians' experiences. Her journey begins with an Internet search engine, her "wilderness" is a city, and her travels are propelled by the "good credit" required for mobility in a capitalist economy. This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 42 SAIL-FALL 2009* VOL. 21, NO. 3 Rather than climbing a mountain, Corliss boards a Greyhound and finds herself in downtown Seattle, "starting] up at the skyscrap ers" U7).6 She is struck not only by the sheer size of these monu mental buildings but also by what these architectural guardians of the city signify to her about urban space: it is "exciting and danger ous," a place where "great things" can happen, where "superheroes" like Jimi Hendrix and Bruce Lee haunt the alleys. As she walks the streets thinking of Homer's Odyssey and "marvel[ing] at the archi tecture, at the depth and breadth and width of the city," the sight of a homeless man who is begging for change catches her attention (28). She feels a connection with him because of her own "approxi mate" homelessness, and she stops to ask him for directions (29). As an Indigenous person, "displaced by colonial rule," Corliss is both always and never at home in the United States (29). Although she feels a bit out of place in the city at first, Corliss brings with her a particular definition of the urban, which informs her encoun ters there. Carol Miller, citing William Bevis, suggests that the non Native idea of the "urban," which describes a "dense complex of human variety" and a confluence of "complex, unpredictable and various relationships," is closer to what Native peoples understand by "natural" (Miller 34). In other words, since "human and natural worlds are united rather than divided" in the epistemologies of most Indigenous people, the urban-natural distinction does not apply? indeed, it might seem "pathological." Where non-Native cultures see a divide, Native peoples find instead an "exemplary idea of indig enous urbanness grounded in the matrices of communality, tradi tion, and homeland" (Miller 33-35). Even though the transference of this idea into urban space is complicated by "a materialist environ ment of sustained racism, poverty, and cultural denigration," Corliss "reassert[s] a particularly Native American idea of urbanness that expresses positive change and cultural vitality" through forming communities (Miller 36,30). This idea of urbanness plays out in the interactions between Corl iss and the homeless man. As she befriends him and buys him a meal at a nearby McDonalds, Alexie introduces us to the thematic threads of community building and shared humanity that weave through all This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Ladino: "A Limited Range of Motion?" 43 of these stories. Of course, Alexie's inversion of the hegemonic white Indigenous relationship here is important to note; he puts Corliss, a young Indian woman, in a position to assist a white man, thus revis ing any paternalism in white-Indian relations and reinserting Indi ans as more "at home" in the United States than whites. But charity is out of the question in any case since the two agree that Corliss will buy lunch "out of the goodness of [her] heart" and the man will give her directions for the same reason (29). As they share lunch?which the man deems a "safe and sane human interaction"?the name less homeless man thanks her for her "acknowledgement of [his] humanity" and permits Corliss to ask him "a human question" as opposed to a "personal" one (30). She inquires about how he became homeless, hears his tale, and thinks "he might be lying to her about everything" (31-32). Whether he is telling the truth or not, readers are struck along with Corliss by the insistent language of humanity he speaks and the rules of humanity he embraces, which he defines primarily by the need for respect (30-31). In forming this "unpredictable" relationship, Corliss transforms the vast, alien city into a home of sorts, in which encountering dif ference provokes compassionate human connections. When Corliss finally meets Harlan Atwater, their encounter is framed by her con versation with the homeless man. Atwater, it turns out, is not "an indigenous version of Harrison Ford," as Corliss had hoped (33). Rather, he is a Spokane Indian who was raised by a white couple in Seattle and admits to "faking" an Indian identity to achieve suc cess as a poet. As with the homeless man, Corliss has trouble sepa rating Atwater's "truth from his lies and his exaggerations from his omissions" (52). And after hearing him out, she concludes: "I don't have any idea how you feel" (52). Her observation is not a hope less one but rather a human one; that is, it acknowledges Atwater's complex emotions and their common struggle to determine their identities. Corliss concedes that while she may know her tribe, her clan, and both her "public" and "secret" Indian names, "everything else she knew about Indians was ambiguous and transitory" (52). When she asks Atwater for his "real name," then, it is appropriate that he answers her only with a smile. Having embarked on a search This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 44 SAIL-FALL 2009'VOL. 21, NO. 3 for authenticity and found instead that identity grows out of "a host of lineages," Corliss returns to school fulfilled (Prashad xi). The vastness of the city allows space for such a conception of identity to thrive. Seattle is a place where people can carve out unique identities or simply disappear and elude the pressures of being "a certain kind of Indian" (42). Atwater may not have "disap peared into the wilds" in a conventional sense, but the city's wildness has enabled him to "stay ... in one place and slowly become invis ible" and thus achieve his desire for anonymity (32). What Corliss discovers in the rich social space of Seattle is that Indians "continu ally negotiate between their Indian identity, their 'American' iden tity (whatever that is), and other identities based on, for example, sexuality, class, and generation" (Nygren 166). In this sense, Alexie's urban Indian identity is like all identity: performative, cobbled together from a web of lineages, and at once self-generated and constructed by and within fraught social forces. Because of the way identity becomes increasingly blurry as diverse people come into contact in urban space, cross-cultural empathy is given more space to emerge and thrive. Corliss's journey frames the rest of the collec tion with this insight and posits compassion and respect as better bases for polycultural human connections than a reliance on truth ful personal narratives or strictly defined identity categories. Later stories continue to theorize how to negotiate Indian identity in urban space and how to form communities when the notion of an authentic identity is moot. In "What You Pawn I Will Redeem," read ers meet a homeless Indian named Jackson Jackson. He refuses to tell us the details of how he became homeless, but he does not spare us the insight that "homeless Indians are everywhere in Seattle"? even if most people "walk right on by [them,] with maybe a look of anger or disgust or even sadness at the terrible fate of the noble sav age" (170). This comment brings with it an implicit antiracist agenda that challenges readers to open their eyes to the historical roots and racial dimensions of ongoing injustices like homelessness and pov erty. Alexie continues to explore the ways in which ethnic identity and geography are intertwined in this and other stories. This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Ladino: "A Limited Range of Motion?" 45 Alexie reinforces the determined presence of urban Indians with a nod to Simon Ortiz's story, "The San Francisco Indians," remind ing us again, later in the story, that "Indians are everywhere" (193). Despite their numbers, however, these Indians' identities are unsta ble, blurry, even fabricated. Jackson Jackson knows exactly who he is and where he comes from, but he chooses not to tell readers and instead describes himself as perpetually "disappearing" (170). Rather than play into the all-too-familiar American myth of the disappear ing Indian, though, Jackson Jackson's story suggests that a loosely formulated concept of Indianness and a shift away from tribalism enable pan-Indian and polycultural communities to form. When Jackson Jackson tries to pinpoint a fellow homeless Indian's identity, this "Plains Indian hobo" responds with a poignant question that resonates in this story and throughout the collection: "Do any of us know exactly what we are?" (170). Indeed, the question of what we are depends greatly on where we are. This fluid conception of identity is well suited to its urban set ting. In Alexie's Seattle, Indians decide what they are according to how they occupy the city?the neighborhoods they live in, the places they spend time, the jobs they hold?and how they interact with its inhabitants. The city itself is a dynamic space, which provides unique opportunities for communities to form. As anthropologist Susan Lobo explains, "An urban Indian community is not situated in an immutable, bounded territory as a reservation is, but rather exists within a fluidly defined region with niches of resources and bound aries that respond to needs and activities, perhaps reflecting a reality closer to that of Native homelands prior to the imposition of res ervation borders" (76). While not all Indians can decide "what they are" with equal agency, a "fluidly defined" community can emerge to combat alienation and provide emotional and material support. Lobo notes that since urban Indians are free from some of the gov ernment bureaucracy and formalized documentation that track res ervation life?which creates a situation where "every moment of an Indian's life is put down in triplicate on government forms, collated, and filed" (Alexie, Ten 20)?they can achieve a greater measure of self-determination, especially in terms of forming pan-Indian com This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 46 SAIL-FALL 2009* VOL. 21, NO. 3 munities (Lobo 8i). Of course, this lack of surveillance has a poten tial downside: invisibility can mean neglect at the national level, in the form of government support for Indian populations, and avoid ance at the individual level, in the ways Alexie illustrates. Exploring the tension between individual self-determination and systemic oppression, Jackson Jacksons story contains commu nity formation and empathy, as well as community dissipation and invisibility. Jackson Jackson is on a quest to raise one thousand dol lars in twenty-four hours?enough money to buy back his grand mother's regalia, which he discovers in a pawnshop. He maps his journey in terms of time and space, keeping track of the hours as he wanders the streets of Seattle looking for opportunities to raise the cash. His joy in impromptu communities and his generous heart make it difficult for him to keep money in his pocket. During this daylong quest, Jackson Jackson buys a round of drinks for every one at an "all-Indian bar" downtown, bonds with a white police man who picks him up (drunk) from the railroad tracks and gives him twenty dollars, buys breakfast for three homeless Aleut Indians, and tells a Korean store clerk that she is "family" as he shares his lot tery winnings with her (181). He returns to the pawn shop (which, in its own shifty, urban way, is "located in a space [he] swore it hadn't been filling up a few minutes before") with five dollars?the same amount he started with (193). Since Jackson Jackson does not have the "good credit" that Corliss, an educated, middle-class Indian, has, he must rely on net works of good people instead. That he finds these good people?the sympathetic police officer, the friendly store clerk, and ultimately, the generous pawnshop owner?indicates that urban space is not entirely conditioned by capitalism. Rather, pockets of community that operate according to different, "human," rules persist. When the pawnshop owner sells him the regalia for five dollars instead of a thousand, it is hard not to share Jackson Jackson's joy and opti mism, as he remarks: "Do you know how many good men live in this world? Too many to count!" (194). Following this declaration, he immediately goes outside, where he performs a ceremony for the city to witness: "Outside, I wrapped myself in my grandmother's This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Ladino: "A Limited Range of Motion?" 47 regalia and breathed her in. I stepped off the sidewalk and into the intersection. Pedestrians stopped. Cars stopped. The city stopped. They all watched me dance with my grandmother. I was my grand mother, dancing" (194). Here, the city provides a tolerant setting for identity to quite literally be performed. Although Indian iden tity, like the urban setting that envelopes it, is constantly in flux, in this case the city's movement has to cease in order for the perfor mance to be seen. These moments, when the city stops long enough for people to be confronted with difference, allow for compassion, beauty, and community building to occur. That Jackson Jackson forms connections with white men, a Korean woman, and a slew of Indians from various tribes suggests the polyculturalism that Prashad envisions, which eschews multiculturalism in favor of real acts of alliance "across perceived lines of racial difference." Despite the fact that most of his "family" has disappeared by the story's end, Jackson Jackson's story feels like a success. Other stories explore Indian identity and urban life in equally nuanced terms that accentuate the compromises required for other kinds of success. "Flight Patterns," a tale that chronicles the chal lenges of an emergent American Indian middle class, depicts the alienation that can come from economic success in the city. The protagonist, William Loman, whose name is clearly meant to invoke Arthur Miller's famous salesman, is a professional businessman liv ing in Seattle's gentrifying Central District. As Banka notes, William and his family are "isolated from any urban or reservation Indian community" (38). Banka understands this isolation as a choice for William when she asserts "that for some Indian people the comfort of privacy and individuality, as well as the prospect of economic advancement in the city are more important than being a member of and participating in an urban Indian community" (38). While it is true that William considers himself a member of various "tribes"? like the "notebook-computer tribe," the "security-checkpoint tribe," and the "cell-phone-roaming-charge tribe"?I would argue that this story is about his dissatisfaction with his isolated life as a "capitalis tic foot soldier" and his quest (similar to Corliss's) for a more ful filling existence, in which he connects with other people at a more "human" level (Alexie, Ten 109). This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 48 SAIL FALL 2009 ' VOL. 21, NO. 3 On his way to the airport for one of his frequent business trips, William forms a short-lived but intense bond with his taxi driver, Fekadu, an Ethiopian refugee whom William initially profiles as "a black man with a violent history" (114). Significantly, their bond devel ops while in motion, driving south along I-5, where, "on both sides of the freeway, blue-collared men and women drove trucks and fork lifts, unloaded trains, trucks, and ships, built computers, televisions, and airplanes" (116). Witnessing these various kinds of labor from the perspective of a moving cab allows William not only to contemplate the "breathtaking privilege" of the choices in his "comfortable and safe" professional life but also to develop a sympathetic connection to Fekadu, a member of a different socioeconomic class (116). Perhaps because both men are "ambiguously ethnic," they are able to talk honestly with each other, comparing notes on their respective treatment in the United States after 9/11 and sharing their personal histories (114). As with the rest of the stories in this collection, the authenticity of identity is not important. William doubts the truth fulness of Fekadu's experiences; however, he longs to "hear more of this man's stories and learn from them, whether they were true or not" (121). The effectiveness of stories is not contingent on their veracity. In this case, "if Fekadu wasn't describing his own true pain and loneliness, then he might have been accidentally describing the pain of a real and lonely man" (121). His tale invites a compassionate connection that reaches beyond the men's personal encounter and gestures toward broader human issues of suffering and alienation. By the time the cab ride is over, William seems to have realized that his own "flight patterns" must change if he is to alleviate his loneliness and form more fulfilling relationships with others, start ing with his own family. When he arrives at the airport, he frantically calls his wife and declares: "I'm here" (123). This last line references both an emotional availability and the important physical dimen sions of human relationships?face-to-face interpersonal connec tions, genuine listening, and hands-on comforting. As William's words locate him spatially, they also remind us that simply talking about tolerance or diversity cannot substitute for making real con nections with real people. William has progressed from thinking of This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Ladino: "A Limited Range of Motion?" 49 "our ceremonies" as primarily "personal narratives" to considering ceremony as something that must be created with others, as a pro cess that builds community between human beings (112). In "What Ever Happened to Frank Snake Church," Frank learns similar lessons as he forms polycultural alliances with other peo ple. After his father's death, Frank embarks on a combination self improvement and mourning endeavor, driven by what he describes as the need "to keep moving, get stronger, build, and connect" (206). He works with a personal trainer, Russell, a "thin and muscular black man" who also happens to be gay, and they form an intimate friendship as Frank returns to a healthier, more youthful physical condition (206). A former basketball star in college, Frank enjoys the pain of his training?"Make me hurt," he says to Russell at the start of each session?and describes his quest as a "ceremony" designed to allow him "to disappear into the ritual, to methodically change into something new and better, into someone stronger" (210). Frank also returns to the basketball court, where he plays against men and women of various colors, professions, and athletic abilities (211-12). Amidst his rigorous physical life, Frank revisits memories of his parents and mourns the death of his beloved dad while receiving support from Russell, from a team of African American basketball players, and eventually, from the employees at a local community college. During a game of "Horse" with a black basketball player known as "Preacher," Frank begins to realize the self-centeredness of his mourning ceremony. Preacher begins by reminding Frank of his age?and by extension, his mortality?but ends by lecturing him on the selfishness of his invented ceremony. Frank claims to be playing basketball "to remember [his] mom and dad"; however, Preacher mocks Frank's assertion that "honoring" his deceased parents in this way is "an Indian thing," dismissing this idea as "racist crap." Calling Frank out on what he sees as a self-gratifying attempt at reliving his glory days on the basketball court, Preacher charges: "You're playing to remember yourself" (228). When Frank blows out his knee while trying out for the local community-college team, his ceremony offi cially comes to an end. His enrollment at the college ends the story on an optimistic note. Frank's experience at the admissions office is This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 50 SAIL FALL 2009 ' VOL. 21, NO. 3 a humbling, touching, and emotional one, during which he receives a literal hand-holding from Lynn, then breaks down in tears and is comforted by Stephanie, both kind office employees. Ultimately, becoming "someone stronger" transcends physi cal fitness, and Frank discovers not only that he must not only take advice, comfort, and assistance from others but also that he must reach beyond himself?and beyond his ideas about what "an Indian thing" is?to form healthy relationships with others. As in the brief friendships between William and Fekadu and Corliss and the home less man, common humanity supersedes but does not elide the race or class distinctions between Frank and the other characters. As a result, they see each other as individuals and are able to learn com passion, respect, and even self-knowledge from one another. Corl iss, William, and Frank Snake Church learn to develop ceremonies that incorporate family and community, that are not self-serving. Though the success of these new ceremonies is only hinted at, these stories end on definitively optimistic notes. Pan-Indian and polycul tural communities help combat the excessive individualism encour aged by urban professional life as well as the alienation and home lessness experienced by many urban Indians. Of course, some of the communities formed in Ten Little Indians are far less Utopian. Alexie has not turned a blind eye toward exist ing problems with his newfound optimism; an antiracist agenda remains powerful in his work. In the story "The Life and Times of Estelle Walks-Above," the main character, Estelle, befriends a group of liberal white women who romanticize her according to new-age stereotypes of Indianness. Like Corliss?who exploits the fact that "white folks assumed she was serene and spiritual and wise simply because she was an Indian"?Estelles identity is framed by associ ations of Indianness with spirituality (Alexie, Ten n). Even in the city, this sort of "goofy sentimentalism" persists (n). Stereotypes are not bound by geography; they are mobile and portable, easily trans ferred from the reservation to urban space. The characters are still haunted by a reservation that, to recall Nygrens observation, has become "a mental and emotional territory" that retains its coloniz ing powers. Just as liberal whites feel entitled to "steal [Indian] land This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2Thu, 01 Jan 1976 12:34:56 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Ladino: "A Limited Range of Motion?" 51 as long as [they] plant organic peas and carrots in the kidnapped soil," persistent stereotypes are emblematic of the "colonial contra dictions" that hold Estelle and her son hostage (Alexie, Ten 141). Thus, Alexie exposes the limits to human compassion, even among the most well intentioned. When Estelle's son, the narrator, sees a beautiful woman in a white dress walking down the street and realizes she has a dark red stain of menstrual blood on her dress, he cannot believe no one has stopped her to let her know. He won ders whether she has "left her evidence all over the city" and "how could she walk through a city with so much blood staining her white dress and not be stopped by another human being? Would she lose her faith in people, in God, in goodness?" (149). The narrator and his mother find themselves paralyzed in her presence; they hesi tate, unable to take action, and exchange desperate words ("Mom! Mom," he yells; she replies, "I know! I know!"). Finally, another woman comes to the rescue, "explod[ing] out of her car with a coat in her hands, wrapping] it around the waist of the woman in the white dress" and hastily leaving the scene. Unlike Jackson Jackson's performance in the intersection, in this case the city has not stopped to bear witness; to the contrary, as Estelle and her son embrace each other, crying, he notices that "the city moved all around us, while one woman led another woman to safety" (149). Even as small acts of kindness give us hope, much suffering still goes unnoticed. Alexie's characters may have left their evidence all over the city, but not everyone sees that evidence.7 When Richard, a half-Indian, half-African American character in the story "Lawyer's League," ends his story by posing a (human) question?"Do you understand I have a limited range of motion?" (68)?readers might very well answer "yes." This question works on several levels. Literally, Richard is referring to his hand, which he injures when he punches a lawyer during a heated basketball game after the lawyer makes racist comments; the hand still pains him. Symbolically, the question could reference Richard's hopes of becoming president of the United States. Earlier in the story he cur tails a potential love affair with Theresa (a white liberal whom he meets at a "bipartisan" cocktail party) because of the still-pervasive fear of miscegenation in the United States and the effect this could This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 52 SAIL-FALL 2009'VOL. 21, NO. 3 have on his eventual candidacy. This poignant last line invokes not just physical movement, then, but also ideological "move ment" across race and class lines, including upward mobility. Just as Corliss's and William's stories reveal the ways in which race and class continue to shape options for mobility in cities, Richards story reminds us that spatial, political, and interpersonal mobility are limited by persistent racism, economic disadvantages, and lingering stereotypes about Indianness and other identity categories.8 Merely giving lip service to diversity?such as Estelle's friends do when they purport to respect but in effect romanticize her?is insuf ficient without an antiracist motivation to accompany it. Richard admits that "it felt good and true" to punch the racist lawyer in the face. Taking his observation beyond the personal to the national level, he adds, "This country would be a better place if every U.S. president had punched racists in the face" (68). With characteristic humor and insight, Alexie recommends that even if we feel "small and powerless against the collected history" of racism and ongoing social injustice, we might all take steps to do what is "good and true" in our encounters with other people (122). Contrary to stereotypes about authentic, pure Indianness, usually associated with natural environments, Alexie's stories suggest that being Indian in Seattle involves walking a line between tradition and adaptation, a process of transformation that Paula Gunn Allen calls liminality (11-12). Traditions and ceremonies do remain?as does a conception of Indianness, however inventive and impure? even as they continue to evolve. Frank Snake Church's ignorance of traditional Indian singing and drumming does not prevent him from "wail[ing] tribal vocals" when his father dies (203). Corliss's vision quest to and through Seattle is no less authentic because she rides a Greyhound instead of a horse or because it culmi nates at a McDonald's rather than an isolated mountaintop. Like Jackson Jackson's ceremony, precariously performed in "the inter section" outside the pawnshop, Alexie's characters' improvisational ceremonies are shaped by complex social spaces and their diverse inhabitants. This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Ladino: "A Limited Range of Motion?" 53 Certainly different characters have different degrees of agency in constructing their own ceremonies, depending on their socioeco nomic status and their perceived racial identity, and Alexie does not shy away from that fact. For instance, William's braids?the "indig enous businessman's tonsorial special"?work to his advantage in a way that Jackson Jackson's visible markers of his Indianness do not (104). Given these discrepancies, Alexie does suggest that relatively privileged Indians risk inventing ceremonies that are routinized or self-centered; as in Frank's and William's cases, such ceremonies need to be rethought. Alexie implicitly asks: How might individual or cultural ceremonies evolve to become human ceremonies, cere monies that address our shared humanity and raise "human ques tions"? Alexie's stories remind us that, despite the particularities of racism, the injustices of history, and the stereotypes and systemic oppressions that still function, some experiences still cross cultures. Specifically, human suffering, and the compassion generated by acknowledging other people's pain, should bring us together. Alexie has stated that "pain is relative_I mean, if I'd throw a rock ran domly right now, I'd hit someone whose life is worse than mine ever was .. . Everybody's pain is important" (qtd. in Nygren 156). This sentiment is echoed when Preacher challenges Frank with the ques tion: "What makes you think your pain is so special, so different from anyone else's pain?" (Alexie, Ten 228). The words of Alexie's poet-character Harlan Atwater might serve as an appropriate motto for the book. Atwater says: "I believe in the essential goodness of human beings, and if that's being radical, then I guess I'm a radical" (23). Regardless of whether Alexie himself believes in humanity's "essential goodness," his stories suggest a radical hopefulness that is undeniable. While careful not to simply elide difference or cover over social ills, these stories offer hope in the formation of new communities and in the compassion people have for one another that crosses racial, economic, and other social and geographic boundaries. On one hand, Alexie "affirms a sense of subjective will and humanity in his characters that helps set them free in their colonial context" (Moore 299). On the other hand, he acknowledges that while "an This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 54 SAIL FALL 2009 * VOL. 21, NO. 3 Indian identity persists, urbanization has rapidly undermined the legacy of native traditionalism" (Fixico, Urban Indian 6). In what Fixico calls a "sociocultural transition from communalism to a for eign individualism," Indians in cities "continue to experience diffi culties in substituting traditional values for white American mate rialism and competition in the modern world" (3, 25). Yet Alexie's characters hint that this transition is always incomplete, since they often experience the triumph of community over individualism in their everyday lives. Given the constant reinventions of cultural tra ditions and the challenges and compromises faced by city-dwell ing Indians, the need to theorize American Indian identity as it is formed within urban space is a pressing one. Specifically, the idea of an "Indigenous urbanness" warrants further exploration within ethnic studies conversations. As Alexie's characters navigate this multicultural city, they expose historical and continuing injustices and reframe our understand ings of how Indian cultural identity is shaped in and by urban space. Ultimately, the imagination of Indian identity in this story collection helps us see that multiculturalism is still a dominant myth in liberal American cities like Seattle?a myth that needs to be debunked if a more polycultural world is to develop. While the stories' gestures toward a transcendent humanism might threaten to replicate the discourse of multiculturalism and its ahistorical avow als of authenticity and purity, Alexie does recognize the complicated ways that cultural and racial distinctions continue to perform influ ential work in American society. His characters fight against these imposed distinctions and live in "culturally dynamic worlds" that are contradictory, complex, and far from homogenous (Prashad xii). Alexie's stories reach across these contradictions to address human ity's common needs for respect, compassion, and a sense of com munity, in addition to more basic material needs. In doing so, they exemplify narrative's power to, in Elizabeth Cook-Lynn's words, "stir the human community to a moral view which would encom pass all of humanity, not just selected parts of it" (64). Conceiving of a shared humanity, where individuals navigate complex identity categories like race, culture, gender, or sexuality, instead of occupy This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Ladino: "A Limited Range of Motion?" 55 ing them fully or consistently, might provide the possibility for such human community to develop. NOTES 1. See Fixico's foreword to American Indians and the Urban Experience for statistics on urban Indian populations. 2. Following Fixico and others, I will use the phrase urban Indian to describe those Native Americans who have assimilated, to varying degrees, into urban life, often following the federal relocation programs begun in the 1950s (Fixico, Urban Indian 29). I also use Native American and American Indian interchangeably, to reflect the fact that there is no generally agreed upon way of speaking about Indigenous peoples. When writing about Alex ie's text, I defer to "Indian" to honor his preferred choice. 3. Although Prashad's text focuses on historical interactions between African and Asian Americans, his concept of polyculturalism seems perti nent to my discussion of American Indians living in cities where diversity and multiculturalism are touted as progressive ideologies. 4. Alexie echoes these sentiments in his interview with Maya Jaggi, explaining that September 11 exposed the lethal "end game of tribalism? when you become so identified with only one thing, one tribe, that other people are just metaphors to you." Alexie makes similar comments in the short film Half of Anything. 5. Critics might well find fault with Alexie's more recent work?specif ically Flight and The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian?for per petuating the idea that Indian success is contingent upon leaving the res ervation. While this discussion lies outside the scope of this essay, I find it worth mentioning that Alexie defends himself against such charges by explaining that "there's a lot of Indian people who have had similar life tra jectories as the character in my book?who left the reservation for a better life and felt judged negatively because of it. . . . This book validates their decision to leave" (Dameron). 6. Corliss explains that because she is an Indian her daily life is perpetu ally "dangerous and random," full of the "mystic panic" sought by moun tain climbers and other "landed white men"; thus, she does not seek out such excitement for recreation. Indeed, Alexie writes, simply going to col lege is "an extreme sport for an Indian woman" (29). 7. Another instance of invisibility is the Aleut Indian trio that haunts "What You Pawn I Will Redeem," who eventually disappear without a trace. This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 56 SAIL-FALL 2009 * VOL. 21, NO. 3 Jackson Jackson cannot be sure of their fate, since conflicting stories say they "waded into the saltwater near Dock 47," they "walked on the water and headed north," or they just simply "drown" (192-93). 8. Even characters who appear to have successfully navigated these obstacles admit to making compromises in order to do so. Educated and relatively wealthy, Sharon and David of "Do You Know Where I Am?" are in some ways "Native American royalty"; however, they are also "thoroughly defeated by white culture" and "conquered and assimilated National Merit Scholars in St. Junior's English honors department" (151). WORKS CITED Alexie, Sherman. The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven. New York: Harper Perennial, 1993. Print. -. Ten Little Indians. New York: Grove Press, 2003. Print. Allen, Paula Gunn. Introduction. Song of the Turtle: American Indian Litera ture 1974-1994. New York: One World/Ballantine, 1996.3-17. Print. Banka, Ewelina. '"Homing' in the City: Sherman Alexie's Perspectives on Urban Indian Country." European Review of Native American Studies 20.1 (2006): 35-38. Print. Cook-Lynn, Elizabeth. Why I Can't Read Wallace Stegner and Other Essays. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1996. Print. Coulombe, Joseph. "The Approximate Size of His Favorite Humor: Sher man Alexie's Comic Connections and Disconnections in The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven? American Indian Quarterly 26.1 (2002): 94-115. Print. Dameron, Eva. "From Rez Kid to Respected Author." New Mexico Daily Lobo. October 23,2007. http://media.www.dailylobo.com/media/storage/ paper344/news/2oo7/io/23/Culture/From-Rez.Kid.To.Respected.Author -3050257.shtml. Web. Fixico, Donald L. Foreword. American Indians and the Urban Experience. Ed. Susan Lobo and Kurt Peters. New York: Altamira Press, 2001. ix-x. Print. -. The Urban Indian Experience in America. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2000. Print. H?lf of Anything. Dir. Jonathon S. Tomhave. University of Washington: Na tive Voices, 2006. DVD. "Interview with Vijay Prashad." Front List Books. November 2001. http:// www.frontlist.com/interview/PrashadInterview.Web. This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Ladino: "A Limited Range of Motion?" 57 Jaggi, Maya. "All Rage and Heart." The Guardian. May 3, 2008. http://www .guardian.co.uk/books/2008/may/03/featuresreviews.guardianreview 13. Web. Lobo, Susan. "Is Urban a Person or a Place? Characteristics of Urban Indian Country." American Indians and the Urban Experience. Ed. Susan Lobo and Kurt Peters. New York: Altamira Press, 2001.73-84. Print. Miller, Carol. "Telling the Indian Urban: Representations in American In dian Fiction." American Indians and the Urban Experience. Ed. Susan Lobo and Kurt Peters. New York: Altamira Press, 2001.29-45. Print. Moore, David L. "Sherman Alexie: Irony, Intimacy and Agency." The Cam bridge Companion to Native American Literature. Ed. Joy Porter and Ken neth M. Roemer. Cambridge, England: Cambridge UP, 2005.297-310. Nygren, ?se. "A World of Story-Smoke: A Conversation with Sherman Alexie." MELUS 30:4 (2005): 149-69. Print. Ortiz, Simon. "The San Francisco Indians." The Man to Send Rain Clouds. Ed. Kenneth Rosen. New York: Penguin, 1974.9-13. Print. Owens, Louis. Mixedblood Messages: Literature, Film, Family, Place. Nor man: University of Oklahoma Press, 1998. Print. American Indian Lit erature and Critical Studies Ser. 26. Prashad, Vijay. Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting: Afro-Asian Connections and the Myth of Cultural Purity. Boston: Beacon Press, 2001. Print. Williams, Sarah T. "Man of Many Tribes." Star Tribune. December 31,2007. http://www.startribune.com/entertainment/books/11435616.html.Web. This content downloaded from 130.216.158.78 on Sat, 08 May 2021 22:51:47 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms